


A Moment of Peace

by thingstodowithmyhands



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Gen, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 12:22:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13053915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingstodowithmyhands/pseuds/thingstodowithmyhands
Summary: Maia finds a home.





	A Moment of Peace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jenn_Calaelen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenn_Calaelen/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide!

It was summer, when the news came. One of the hottest days of the year, which meant it was also one of the best; Setharis hated physical discomfort of any kind. He would be in the bowels of the manor, prowling from room to room with drink in hand. In the winter months, this was the worst kind of torture, never knowing when Setharis would spring into a space with malice on his tongue. But in the summer, at least, the outdoors beckoned. 100 yards away from the manor doors wasn’t far, but between the squelching wetness of the ground and the oppressive heat of the day, it was space enough. Sheltering in the branches of a sickly tree, facing away from Edonomee, he could be anyone at all. It was worth the heat, for that.

From his position across the marshes, Maia saw the airship bursting out of cloud cover and land within the courtyard. Things happened quickly, after that. Within minutes, he was in the formal receiving room, such as it was, Setharis drunk by his side, leaves plastered to his skin as the courtier told him of his father & brother’s fate only a few days ago, save for one. Nemolis. Who now called him across the elven lands to stand at his father’s funeral.

As the courier relayed details, Maia tried to remember his brother. Had he been to his mother’s funeral? Had he touched his arm, looked his way? He couldn’t remember, only the touch of the woman who had been by his side, the great yawning loneliness he’d felt at this palace full of people who had no place for him.

The courier was going back now, on the airship. Would Maia like to come, on this deathtrap that had killed his family? Away from Edonomee, from Setharis, from the swamp and the fear and the endless days and nights? Yes, yes, yes.

Within the hour, the airship was lifting off and Maia was born skyward, toward the only family he had left. 

….

Maia arrived into a palace in chaos. The courier, kind enough on the flight, dropped him off in a receiving room and left in a hurry. It was a small place, but comfortable enough. Thick walls swallowed the frantic sounds from outside, and, if not for the tension in his heart, Maia might have almost enjoyed the silence. Instead, even removed from Edonomee, he yet heard Setharis’s voice snarling in the back of his head:  _You spineless, sniveling fool. Remember that you are unwanted in this place_.

Within minutes, the door opened, and the emperor walked in. Maia felt unbalanced, unjustly so. It was an honor to be received by the emperor himself, surely. Nemolis was all Maia might have imagined and more. Resplendent in rich black robes and flanked by his guards, the fabled Nohecharei, he cut a striking figure as he walked to the throne. He looked the sun to Maia’s moon, a figure from a children’s book. Again, Maia heard the whisper-sneer of his cousin’s voice. He kept himself from trembling with some unnamable emotion as he bowed low.

“Serenity.” He murmured, eyes downcast.

“Brother,” Nemolis said. Maia jerked up in time to catch an expression of shock flick across the Nohecharei’s faces. There was no one else in the room, not even a secretary. This was as close to alone as he might ever be again with the emperor. He reminded himself, again, that this was to be taken as a grand honor. But even in his own mind the words rang hollow. As though he had not noticed Maia’s silence, the emperor spoke again: “We regret that we have had no opportunity to know thee, although we have long wished it. We have loved all our brothers dearly.”

Maia inclined his head. He could offer no agreement; aside from the slate gray eyes they all shared, he would have been hard-pressed to match them out of a lineup.

“We hope that in their place thou will join us in honoring our late father at his funeral three days hence.” His tone booked no argument. Even before he had become Emperor, Nemolis had clearly been a man used to being obeyed.

Maia’s mind supplied the right words of condolence and understanding—for all of Setharis’ faults, he had not left him bereft of manners. But his tongue stalled in his throat, emotions he had been keeping at bay for the long airship ride battling to the forefront. The funeral would end. Maia would be a cog in his brother’s ascension, then tossed back into obscurity where he belonged. Did anything he do matter to this stranger? Were there words he could say that might shift the force of the oncoming tide?

“We have come as thou commanded,” Maia said stiffly. “We know the rites.”

“I see.” Nemolis said. Maia startled—unlike him, Nemolis likely used the formal first in almost all his speech. To drop it now was a deliberate ploy, but an effective one. Maia could not help but enjoy the scandalized face of one of Nemolis’s guards, a stiff-backed young man with a soldier’s carriage, nor could he help but warm to his brother the tiniest bit.

“We do not mean to offend,” Maia offered.

“Yes, thou did.” Nemolis said, but with a smile. “Hast thou eaten?” He struck a small golden bell by his chair without waiting for an answer, and a servant appeared from some hidden back room. “Please fetch a table for us. Do thou take tea?” This last was to Maia, who, unsure of his footing, kept his mouth shut. Nemolis waved his hand dismissively in his brother’s direction. “Some of everything, then.” The servant bowed and disappeared.

The soldier guard leaned forward, and murmured “Serenity, the Lord Chancellor—” Nemolis cut him off with a hand.

“He will wait,” Nemolis said. His eyes did not leave Maia’s. He felt himself being measured against some invisible marker, and found wanting. “Dost thou know of the Lord Chancellor, brother?”

“Just what my cousin has told me,” Maia said. “An important man.”

“A prickly one,” Nemolis answered. “He will gracefully acquiesce to our request, then find some small way to punish us for this. Such is the nature of the court.” The door swung open, and two servants positioned a table and refreshments in front of the throne, impossibly fast. Or perhaps the emperor planned it this way, a surprise meeting after Maia’s landing, a request he couldn’t help but chaff under. A servant placed a chair to Nemolis’s right, and the emperor gestured to it.

“We are not of the court.” Maia said as he sat. He did not add _as you are._ He did not need to. “But we have attended a royal funeral before. We can do as thou requests.”

“Yes, we remember the last occasion. A great pity; Chenelo was a remarkable woman.” This was a second volley at his heart, Maia knew, but it hit as intended. He felt a sudden pain in his chest.

 “You knew my mother?” he asked, forgetting again the formal second. But Nemolis didn’t seem to mind, and from his position at the table, Maia could not see the scandalized guards. It was as if they were truly alone.

“During her pregnancy we grew… well, not close, exactly. But we were only a few years apart. We felt a kinship with her and mourned her loss deeply.” Nemolis’s eyes seemed to bore into Maia’s. He had not even looked at the food. “It is in her memory we have called you here. We have heard stories of thee but—well, we heard stories of her too.”

“What do you know of us?” Maia asked, voice near a whisper.

“What we all know.” Nemolis said. “Thou are simple. Malformed. More goblin than elf. There were those here who thought of calling thee back to be used as a bargaining chip with the Great Avar. But we see now that thou are not so easily ruled.” He smiled again, star-bright. “Do you believe it so?”

“Our father certainly did.” The words were out before Maia could stop them.

But Nemolis again steadfastly refused to rise to the bait. He tipped his head back against the golden throne, at perfect ease. “Indeed he did,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Thou should know that we brought you here to learn of the court and be a part of it, should thou desire it. This is a dangerous place, but the rewards are great if thou shows merit.”

“What more would thou have us do?” Maia asked, thrown. He felt detached from the conversation, as though it was happening to someone else.

“Thou will be our heir until our son Idra comes of age.” He smiled, spreading his arms wide. “Welcome to the Untheileneise Court.”

….

Despite Nemolis’s private declaration, no one in Untheileneise seemed eager to validate Maia’s new status. With the funeral and coronation following in quick succession, it seemed that everyone but Maia had something important to do and he was left for some days to his own wandering.

The palace was even larger than he had previously realized. Every path seemed to take him to some hidden treasure, a sitting room done up all in gold, or a softly bubbling fountain built into the rock face. Those couriers and nobility that recognized the lanky goblin boy gave him a wide berth, but said nothing, and for that he was grateful.

It gave him time to think. He could not quite believe his boldness with Nemolis. The emperor was not unkind—by all reports, he was clever, good to subordinates, a dedicated family man. In person, too, he had exuded a kind of inescapable magnetism. From his brief encounter with the man, Maia had no doubt that Nemolis could take over gracefully from his father. He was a better man and perhaps, in time, a better ruler.

And yet.

Maia could not see his place in this, by the emperor’s side. Deep within Maia anger long left untended still burned. He was furious at his father’s death, furious that he might never have the chance to face the man who had cruelly thrown him and Chenelo away like trash. Nemolis had reached out with open arms and plucked him from hellish exile. But it was not enough, not nearly enough.

It was three days after his arrival when he found himself in a small walled garden. Unlike the grander spaces nearer to the center of the palace, where the bustle was most pronounced, this space was quiet and simple. A few delicate white blossoms arched gracefully near a single stone bench at the foot of a small pond. It looked like a story he’d heard from his mother, back when he’d imagined the Untheileneise Court a place of wonder. He settled on the bench cross-legged, and imagined this space a comfort for his mother in her days here. He had no way of knowing, not really, but it was easy to imagine her within this tranquil space, and the thought soothed his anger as nothing else had.

He became aware, gradually, of another presence in the garden.

Standing at one of the entrances, near an ornate carved pillar was a young man, well-dressed. He did not seem surprised to see Maia, nor eager to interrupt him.

“Hello.” Maia said, cautiously. “Are we in your space? It’s a lovely garden, but not quite built for two, we think.”

The young man smiled, and Maia saw he was far younger than he had previously estimated. “No, it wasn’t,” the boy said, “Built for Varenechibel II’s first wife 200 years ago. Her rooms were right through that back exit, but they’ve been closed off for years. We’ve heard stories of ghosts. Nobody comes here.”

“Nobody but thee?” Maia hazarded, and was rewarded with another brilliant smile.

“And our sister,” the boy admitted. “We are Idra, by the way. And thee must be our cousin, Prince Maia.” But the boy did not seem sad to say it, nor did the revelation change his friendly demeanor.

“We are,” Maia said. “Were thou close, with thy other uncles?”

Idra shrugged. “Some”

“And thy grandfather?”

“He was always kind to us.” Idra said. “But that is not the same thing. May we sit?”

Obediently, Maia shifted over. Idra was not what he had expected from the recently-demoted son of the emperor. He looked every inch the young heir but he held a brightness and innocence to him that Maia had seen nowhere else in the castle. Not that he had been looking very hard, he reminded himself.

“Tell us about yourself,” Maia asked, and the boy brightened. He spoke of his sister, of people Maia had never heard of doing ridiculous, impossible things. He did not talk down to Maia, but neither did he placate him. He spoke like he was talking to a friend.

“Idra,” Maia said when his cousin had at last paused for breath. “What can thee tell us of your father?”

Idra did not look surprised by the change in subject.

“He is a good man,” he said, carefully, “We love and respect him very much. He asked grandfather for your return, you know.”

Maia shook his head slowly.

“He did not tell thee? He wanted thee to come home, to be a part of our family.” Idra smiled again, shyly. “We would like that, too”

“As would I.” Maia said, quietly. It would not be easy. He had so much to learn, and surely few others would be on his side. But wasn’t this proof enough that he ought to keep himself open, that friends could be found? And to have come to this place and found family, to know that one of his brother’s first acts in this tumultuous time was to end his exile, not for his own gain but Maia’s—yes, that might be enough.

He breathed deep of the sweetness of the garden and smiled at his cousin. “Tell us more of this empress. Why are her rooms closed off?”

“ _Ghosts_ ” said Idra, excitedly, and Maia let his cousin’s words wash over him and felt at last some small measure of peace.


End file.
